


What Not to Do When Your Heat-Mate is Harry Potter

by JewelQueen



Series: A Drabble A Day! [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Again sort of, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Author took a lot of liberties, Based on a Dream, Been awhile since author has been in the fandom, Draco is a Selfish Prick, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry, but we love him, excuse everything, just bear with me here, sort of, who knows where i'm going with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9886097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewelQueen/pseuds/JewelQueen
Summary: The Wizarding World is picking up the pieces after the War, and Magic has decided that it needs more people to replace those who have been lost.  What better way to do that than by triggering ancient instincts and bonding two people together who completely hate each other?Okay, well, maybe not completely...But don't you tell anyone, Potter!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, sorry for the spam. AO3 just died and uploaded it 50 times.

It was only when Harry opened his eyes, remembering only the dreamy feel of signature blonde hair ungelled by the heat of passion, that he said to himself, “Shite.”

Harry had nothing against his status--though the morning rush to spell away his slick was a bit awkward and embarrassing--after one dies and comes back to life, it puts this sort of trivial thing into perspective. But, Malfoy, of all people? Even though they were on relatively good terms currently, did it _have_ to be Malfoy?

Supposedly, there was this theory postulating that omegas would be more likely to select a Pureblood for their heat-mate than anyone else due to their magical history. Although, a Muggleborn with a high aptitude for magic was near equally likely; everyone seemed to agree that magical prowess was the key factor regardless of bloodline. But the experts had yet to explain the growing number of biologically male omegas. Not that it mattered. Artificial wombs were available for those who desired to carry a child themselves and the almost exclusive majority of omegas did not feel biologically pressured to mate nor create a child, despite the fact that the sole purpose of heats was to enhance the likelihood of procreation.

So, it wasn’t like his presentation was completely bewildering. Every student that returned to finish their Seventh Year, the so-dubbed “Eighth Year Students,” received a crash course in what to expect if one presents, as 17-22 was the most common age range for such, and the trauma caused by going through the War was likely to trigger presentations. He had hoped, like many of his peers, that he wouldn’t have to worry about it but life never really worked for him that way.

Nevertheless, he supposed that he should inform Malfoy about it and see what he wanted to do. He cast a quick _tempus_ spell; 7:48, if he’s lucky, he might be able to catch Malfoy before breakfast.

While there was no set schedule for Eighth Years, they generally followed the same routine as the rest of the students if only because it was a habit and something that felt normal. Otherwise, they were left to their own devices and given only a rough guideline of what to cover for the NEWTs. The Professors, of course, offered a bi-weekly time slot if there were questions about any of the material but few attended it regularly. Harry figured that he and Ron had Hermione, and that was just as good, if not better than attending.

He hovered outside the doors to the Great Hall, thankful that the early hours usually meant that the students were more often than not too tired and hungry to care who was milling about. Most of his peers understood; there was a tacit agreement that no one would talk about who was on who’s side during the War and what they may or may not have done among the Eighth Years, although, there was still some residual tension for a few of them. But many of the younger students, especially the ones too young to have participated in the War, looked at him with wonder and awe and, sometimes, a little fear. It made him uncomfortable, but, he supposed it was something he simply had to get used to now. Being the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior and coming back from the dead was bound to get stares.

As it so happens, Malfoy came trudging along, his hair not quite as polished as it usually is and stopped to regard Harry with a sleepy scowl.

“Potter,” he muttered, before gesturing towards a more private alcove. Once Harry settled into the, admittedly, small space, Draco continued. “I won’t accept it,”

Harry blinked, surprised and yet not. “Well, good morning to you, too, Draco,”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine, good morning except not because I woke up knowing that the universe has paired me with you,” he said, bitingly.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Harry said, darkly. The room seemed to darken. He wasn’t fond of having to repeat this phrase once again.

Malfoy physically recoiled. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered, looking at the ground. The room returned to its previous lighting. “I know you can’t possibly have chosen me, that’s not how it works, it’s just--” he sighed. “I have plans, you know,”

“I don’t see why being heat-mates would change anything--” Draco frantically shushed him, covering his mouth and glancing around. But no one around paid any attention to them.

“Don’t just go around saying that! Have some discretion, for Merlin’s sake, Potter!” he hissed, removing his hand.

Harry shrugged. “I’m used to not having any privacy in my personal life. Why hide it?”

“You bloody well will hide it because I’m never going to be _it_ ,”

Harry chuckled. “Come on, Draco, seriously? Just say it, it’s not like Voldemort is going to reappear if you do,”

Draco eyed him curiously. “I’ll never understand you--and I’ll never be your heat-mate, is that what you want?”

“It’s a step,” he grinned.

“Good. Then we’re done here. I’m sure you can find hundreds of people willing to share your bed during your heats, so you don’t need me,” He started to walk away.

“Aw, Draco, you jealous?” Harry teased.

Malfoy spun around, cheeks a little red. “As if I have ever been jealous of you, Potter,” Harry simply quirked an eyebrow and watched his cheeks flame. “Shut up. This changes nothing,”

Harry watched him stalk away dramatically with a little bit of fondness. Having seen him at his worst and knowing his real heart, this little act of his was transparent and kind of funny. He got over whatever it was that made him feel insulted and incensed by remarks like that and being familiar with Malfoy, it was easy and entertaining to wind him up. For awhile after the War immediately ended, Hermione was concerned that, by dying, he had lost a part of himself that made him Harry. Technically, that was true. Voldemort’s Horcrux was gone, and he remained, unsure exactly how much he had been shaped by something so dark that was present since nearly his birth. But it wasn’t like he was emotionless; content, yes, aloof, maybe, but he still was able to feel. He just cared less about things. His presentation and Draco’s rejection being one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

The Ministry of Magic, as it does with most things, used to have a mandatory registry of heat-mates whether or not they accepted the bond within thirty days of presentation. The intended purpose was to serve as a legal recognition of an existing bond but, as with most mandatory lists by governments of a sect of people, served as grounds for discrimination. That is not to say that omegas of all genders were treated with hostility, in fact, it was the opposite; omegas were elevated to such a high position of society that they were dissuaded from taking on work outside the home so that they could extend all their focus and care on rearing newborns. Of course, this was encouraged by the fact that most people would only be triggered into a presentation by trauma, usually of the sort that a significant population of magical persons had died suddenly. And, as Harry had seen with his own experiences, the Wizarding World was rather slow to change--if it indeed changed anything at all. 

So it was only recently, some decades ago, that the Ministry outlawed the registry. Instead, they encouraged heat-mates to register voluntarily under extremely confidential records, though, this was slightly undone by the spectacle of ceremony and immediate celebrity status if one went public with their bond. Having had his fair share and then some of fame, Harry was perfectly fine with not going public about his presentation, much less with Malfoy attached to his name as his heat-mate. As it was, there wasn’t any real need legally or otherwise to be recognized when there was a mutual rejection of the bond. Heat-mates were highly magically compatible, and therefore highly likely to produce equally magical children, but there was no compulsion to be together if one or both did not wish for it.

At least, this is what Harry tried to remind himself as he sat uncomfortably with Ron and Hermione for their study session.

Hermione, ever quick on the draw, especially when it came to falling behind on schoolwork, commented first. “Harry, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, pushing up his glasses with one hand while rubbing his cramping stomach absent-mindedly with the other. “Just ate something that’s not sitting well,”

Ron shrugged off his concern, but Hermione was a little more reluctant, staring at him a little while longer before giving a soft, “Okay,” and continuing with her lecture. If only her droning words didn’t make his head buzz like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Oh, and now there are spots floating every--

Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt so much?

“Hush, now, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey’s soothing voice rushed over to him. Harry kept his eyes closed and tried not to groan as the scrape of a curtain being drawn shut went straight to his head. He felt a hand fall gently over his head, pushing back some hairs in the process. She clicked her tongue and turned around to reach for a nearby potion.

Harry attempted to push himself up in preparation for whatever he was about to receive but noted distractedly that his arms didn’t seem to be working. They felt vaguely like years ago when Lockhart had attempted to fix his broken arm and instead vanished his bones. Mildly disconcerting.

“Mr. Potter, I’m going to need you to remain calm,” Madame Pomfrey’s voice cut through sharply. Calm? He was calm. He squinted at her, eyes too heavy to open fully. She held a vial of a thick red goop out in front of his face. It looked disgusting. Her hand shook slightly. “I’m going to place this down by you, Mr. Potter, and I want you to pick it up and drink it immediately. Do you understand?”

He blinked at her slowly, sure that moving his head would kill him. She placed it down rather stiffly on the edge of the bed, and somehow it made its way to his mouth. If it weren’t for the fact that it began to leech away the pain almost instantaneously, he was sure that he would have gagged a lot more strongly at the taste and texture. Instead of pain, everything just felt heavier like his body was transformed into lead. It was exhausting just to place the empty vial back down again.

“What happened?” he managed to croak.

Madame Pomfrey tutted, waggling a finger at him. “You should have told me you presented, young man. Someone of your caliber--well, you could have at least warned me for when your heat hits,”

“So soon?” he asked. Normally heats didn’t hit until at least two months after presentation. It had barely been a week.

Madame Pomfrey leveled him with a stern look. “Surely you don’t think you’re an average wizard, Harry, not after everything,”

He shrugged. He hadn’t really thought about it. His magical ability didn’t concern him. Sure, certain spells seemed to come to him easier, especially after he came back to life, but he hadn’t noticed anything strange. And neither did Hermione.

“You’re the Master of all the Deathly Hollows, Mr. Potter. You’ve conquered death. That changes a wizard,”

“I don’t own the Elder wand anymore,” he protested.

“Nevertheless, Mr. Potter, Magic responds to you like you are a Master. Did you notice anything odd before you took the potion?” He shook his head. “Your magic acted as a force-field, lashing out at anyone who came close while you were in a vulnerable state. It would take someone extremely determined and adept at defensive magic to simply be in your presence while unconscious like that...and of course, your heat-mate,” she finished with a pointed look.

Well, that was unsettling. It explained the absence of Ron and Hermione though. He sincerely doubted his unconscious would have wanted the two of them around if he was suffering an early heat; they were like brother and sister to him, especially since they’ve become a couple. 

“D--” Harry cut himself off, even though he knew Madame Pomfrey would keep the knowledge confidential, he wanted to respect Draco’s wishes that no one knows. “My heat-mate doesn’t want to be a part of my life in that way,”

Her eyes softened. “Harry, it’s not a matter of want. Your heats are only going to get worse without them. Based on your magical aptitude alone, you’ll be a danger to yourself and others,”

Harry frowned. “I’ll control it. I’ve taught myself before; I can do it again,”

“Suppression of unconscious, accidental magic of your expression is nowhere near the level of what you accomplished with Dumbledore’s Army,” she refuted. “I’ve not seen anything like it in many years,”

“ _I’ll control it_ ,” he insisted. “I won’t force them to do anything they don’t want to do,”

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Very well,” she started to make her exit. “If you insist on being stubborn, you’re not to have any visitors until you master control.” She shut the curtains behind her as the final word.

Harry huffed, and turned over onto his side. Madame Pomfrey was as kind as she was strict; if she said something, she meant it. So, he would have to meet her exacting standards if he would ever like to be free again. And he would, by Godric he would, if only to prove her wrong.

The only problem is, how does one control something that happens when you’re unconscious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's confused or curious about Harry's magic:
> 
> Basically, it's like an ever-present leak (think HunterxHunter if you've watched/read it), most wizards don't have the magical strength or affinity for unconscious much less wandless magic because it takes a lot of effort and control (wands, after all, are a conduit and work like a bottle-neck for magic). 
> 
> Now, Magic, as in natural sentient magic that infuses everything (think how Hogwarts is kinda alive), picks favourites (think Merlin and the Founders) and has chosen Harry this time around. Because of that and that he technically died and came back, he's in a weird limbo state and is more able to tap into natural Magic unconsciously. Normally, this isn't a problem. While conscious, it feeds off his moods but is tempered by his alert mind so even though he doesn't know he does it, his mind naturally controls it to a degree. While unconscious, and in a vulnerable state such as heats, it is far more aggressive, though in this chapter it took the form of an oppressive aura. 
> 
> Ron and Hermione, already bewildered by his fainting, could only stand it so much as to bring him to the Hospital Wing through sheer determination. Madame Pomfrey, as hinted by in the Wiki, is particularly strong in Defensive magic though she still was affected by it. Draco won't have this problem because he's bonded (even though he rejects it because the Magic that triggers presentation is far stronger than his will). 
> 
> Why Draco? Besides sheer slashy goodness, the Malfoys have an extremely competent heritage (Purebloods are more likely to tap into the same Magic source because they've been a part of Magic for so long which is also why it is usually all or nothing in Pureblooded children) also Magic recognizes that the Black line is split between them (through Narcissa by blood for Draco and through Sirius by Magic Intention for Harry) and wants to keep the Black legacy alive (also makes it more likely to produce magical children if Potter, Malfoy, and Black line are compressed into one and that is, after all, the point of heats).
> 
> (Of course, this is all fan theory and probably has a lot of holes in it) Hope that clears stuff up!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Life happened, and I hit a sort of writer's block, but hopefully I will continue the regular update schedule after this.
> 
> I honestly believe that one of the few times Harry feels his own age is around Poppy because she just treats him like another student, so I really like their interactions.

While leaving the part of him that was a Horcrux behind in the afterlife did provide some bonuses--Harry felt that he had matured as a person, that he now was able to live life in a state of mostly unshakeable peace, and, apparently, was now akin to a Master of Magic, whatever that truly entailed--that did not change the fact that he was still incredibly bored by Magical Theory.

It was very generous of Madame Pomfrey to pick up some books to aid him in the process of controlling his magic since he was forbidden from leaving his quarantined section until he did. But she picked some very dull texts.

With a sigh, he shut the text in front of him, _Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to Do With Them Now You’ve Wised Up_ \--perhaps the least boring of the lot and vaguely familiar from the frantic hurrying to find something for the second task of the Triwizard Cup, but still boring--and placed it stiffly aside with the rest of them. Taking the same red potion, a heat-suppressing tincture as he had come to learn, every day stopped the pain and fever-like symptoms with the side effect of making his body feel like it was moving through a bath of molasses. It was something he was adjusting to, albeit slowly and aggravatingly.

He groaned and slowly leaned back to lay stretched out on the bed. Another side effect: it made it that much harder to indulge in dramatic expressions if he couldn’t move swiftly.

As if she was summoned, Madame Pomfrey called out from behind the curtain, “How are you faring, Mr. Potter?”

Harry turned to the side, eyeing up his stack of books. He wondered how much effort it would take to throw one at her. The topmost one slid a tad as if nudged. “Don’t you have anything better to do than mock me, Poppy?”

“I’ll have you know that you remain here entirely because of your stubbornness, young man,” she admonished but in a fond way. He did, after all, come here often. “As it stands, you are currently my most interesting patient,”

He smiled. “And here I thought you kept me around for the conversation,” he teased.

“Well, you’ve improved remarkably since you first visited, I’ll give you that,” she chuckled. “One day, you might even charm an old lady like me,”

“You know I’m your favorite, always,”

“Now, now, you know I don’t play favorites. That was always Albus’ area. I’ve just had the pleasure of getting to know you more than most students,” She paused. “Is there anything I can do for you, Harry?”

He sighed, feeling drained by the seriousness. “I think I’m going to practice some more, for now,”

“Do let me know if you need anything. I’d hate to see you stay here much longer,” she said, making her way back to her office.

He said nothing, staring off blankly at the ceiling and huffing ineffectively when a stray lock of hair impeded his view. Maybe, just maybe, he had gotten in over his head. The textbooks weren’t helping much at all; they were too technical, and he relied more on...instinct, his gut direction. But how does one instinctively control what is unconscious until it becomes a conscious act even when one isn’t conscious?

He groaned again, gradually stuffing his face into a pillow. His brain hurt too much from all this thinking. Two days straight of this line of thought and it was slowly killing him. Why couldn’t he just keep taking the heat-suppressors and be extra careful about where he slept? After all, his magic was only a problem because he was in heat, so any other time it would be just fine.

Whatever. It was time for a nap. It’s not like he has anything better to do right now.

~*~*~

Harry slowly drifted back into awareness, pillow still covering most of his face. He got up and stretched, marveling in the fluid motion for once. No pain and no heavy-limb syndrome? Cheers to that. Deciding to take advantage of his renewed vigor, he stepped around to peek out of his curtains. Technically, he was supposed to be quarantined, but he was pretty sure that no one else was in the Hospital Wing besides him and Madame Pomfrey. Aside from the occasional Potions- or Care of Magical Creatures-accident (which has either dropped from improved teaching or Potter simply had that much bad luck following him), there were rarely any visitors. All the previous years’ accidents were caused by fighting or as an unfortunate fallout from whatever contrived happenstance there happened to be that Harry avoided thinking too much on. So he wasn’t surprised that all the other cots were empty.

He decided to test the strength of the wards Madame Pomfrey placed on his area and slowly inched forward, stepping a hesitant foot out of the ring of curtaining. 

“Mister Potter, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing!” He heard her voice call, booming from her office.

He smirked and retreated that step. “Why, Poppy, ye of little faith. I was just trying to get some exercise in,”

“Exercising my patience, you mean,” she harrumphed facetiously. “I’m surprised you have the energy,”

“Yeah, about that, I feel fine,” He moved to sit back down on the cot, anticipating her need to corroborate his statement. “I think my heat is over,”

He heard a flurry of movement, robes swishing through the air, as Pomfrey glided over to him with a skeptical eye. Her wand circled through the air as all manner of measurements were taken of him. She frowned at the readings. “This shouldn’t be possible,” she muttered before looking Harry in the eye with a sort of resignation. “But, I suppose, when it comes to you I shouldn’t be surprised anymore,”

He just shrugged. “Does that mean I’m free to go?”

“I’m going to give all the professors a note--not about your presentation,” she added hastily, seeing the gleam in his eyes. “That is, of course, illegal for me to do. However, I am not convinced that you are capable of controlling your magic if a heat comes upon you suddenly and they need to be forewarned about the precautions of taking you to a safe place if you cannot. And I am strongly recommending you request a permanent heat-room from the Headmistress,”

Harry sighed, knowing that her recommendation wasn’t really a recommendation. “Fine,”

She nodded. “Then you are free to go,” She smiled as he cheered, gathering up his things. “I hope I don’t need to see you again, Mr. Potter,”

“You won’t, I promise!” He called over his shoulder, already practically running out the door.

Somehow, when it came from him, she believed that it was true. But that wasn’t necessarily comforting, knowing just how far the young man would go to keep his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Harry has to find a way to explain everything to everybody (how embarrassing) and--what's that? Is Draco concerned?
> 
> And yes, according to HP Wiki, that is a canon book.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for not updating but I hit extended mid-term week and projects and exams all around. And now I don't know where exactly I'm going from here, so I wouldn't get my hopes up for regular updates any time soon just yet. On the plus side, I think we're about halfway through.

“Harry, what the bloody hell happened to you, mate?” Ron’s voice bombarded him the moment he entered the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry sighed.

Hermione followed up by joining him at his side and speaking with a lot more tact in a whisper. “He means to say we are very concerned about what happened. Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t tell us anything, and your magic...I’ve never seen anything like it,”

He patted her arm and drew them into a secluded corner, waving his hand and feeling the sensation of a curtain being closed around them. Huh. Is that what Poppy meant by his magic responding to him? He could get used to this.

“Harry,” Hermione began, somehow in an even more quiet tone. “Was that--did you just cast a wandless _concealing_ charm?”

“Blimey Harry, since when can you do that?” Ron tacked on, eyes bugging out.

“It’s a recent development. I don’t have much control over it, that’s part of the reason why what happened happened,” he said a little sheepishly.

“And the other part?” Hermione asked.

“Ah, I presented as omega, and I sort of went into heat,”

“Harry! You should have told us!” she said just as Ron blurted, “Who’s your heat-mate?”

“Ronald!” she hissed. But Ron just shrugged.

“Well, the thing is, I can’t tell you,” he said, fidgeting with his glasses.

“Do you...do you not know?” Hermione eventually ventured. 

He couldn’t help but feel a burst of fondness for his friends who would sooner believe that he had done something impossible than refuse to tell them something about his personal life. Everyone knew that it was part of presenting that you got images of your heat-mate and felt an immediate connection. Even across continents heat-mates would feel the pull and drive to meet. And, it so happened, that nearly every time one’s heat-mate was someone you already knew. Magic was more likely to pick a compatible person from among familiar people, though not necessary people with prior amity as was obvious in his case, because on some small level, a person’s own magic would rub onto another person in close proximity; several years of interaction at a boarding school such as Hogwarts would very well allow such a possibility.

Harry shook his head, unable to keep a small curve to his mouth from appearing. “My heat-mate wishes to remain anonymous,”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. He figured she would understand immediately. “You mean, they rejected the bond,”

“Who would want to do that?” Ron asked. But before Harry could do more than shrug playfully, he snapped his fingers. “Malfoy,”

He felt his “magic curtain” snap closer around them, enough that Hermione inched closer into Ron’s side. “What makes you think it was him?”

“He’s the only one that makes sense, mate. You’re pretty powerful, and he’s a Pureblood; you guys have always been at each other’s throats, well, since before the War at least; and he’s probably the only person who wouldn’t want to be connected to you like that while he’s trying to rebuild his family’s reputation--Malfoy isn’t the kind of bloke to want people to think he’s weak or dependent,” Ron listed confidently.

Harry blinked. Hermione eagerly hugged him. “Oh, Ron, that was very deductive of you!”

“Not bad for someone with the emotional range of a teaspoon, huh,” he grinned at her and looked back at Harry. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

He huffed and crossed his arms. “I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny,” he said, but the curve had turned into a full-blown smile. He had forgotten just how shrewd Ron could sometimes be.

“Fair enough,” he responded, frowning slightly. “So what’s the plan?”

Harry sighed, slumping in his seat. “Pomfrey wants me to talk to McGonagall about reserving a heat-room for emergencies, so I’ve got to do that yet,” He paused. “Since the whole issue with my magic is going to be a long-term one,”

“It’s always going to act up like that?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.

“Only when I go into my heats, theoretically,”

“But-?” she prompted, and he groaned.

“But because of the way my magic is now, being the Master of the Hollows and all, it’s affecting my heats, and they’re...a lot more unpredictable, to say the least,” he said with a grimace.

“They’d be better if he’d help, right?” Ron stated a little grit to his tone.

“Not an option,” he returned just as harsh.

“ _Theoretically_ , they’d be better if you had your heat-mate to help,” he rephrased.

Harry blew a wayward strand of hair out of his face. “Yes, it’s likely that my heats would normalize, and it would help stabilize my magic, but that doesn’t matter because it’s not going to happen. I can deal with this on my own,”

Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand. “But you’re not alone, Harry. You’ve got us,”

“Always, mate,” Ron chirped.

He smiled, feeling more than seeing the room brighten while looking at his hands. “Thanks, guys,”

~*~*~

Harry decided to wait another couple of days before he went to Headmistress McGonagall about his new accommodations because he was sick of rehashing the same information all the time. There also might have been a very small portion of himself that was dreading the conversation, even though he knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He didn’t want to talk sex stuff with one of his oldest and dearest professors.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter,” she greeted from behind her classroom desk. Whether it was simply a matter of scheduling or her anticipating his reluctance to meet in the usual office, he appreciated the familiarity.

“Good afternoon, Headmistress,” he replied, shifting his weight ever so slightly. But nothing got past her sharp gaze.

“Madame Pomfrey has already informed me of the circumstances, you needn’t be so apprehensive,” Her words were spoken soothingly, but he could tell there was mischievous mirth lurking behind them. That, more than anything, calmed his nerves.

“Did she already tell the other professors too?” he asked.

“They have been warned that there is a student who may need specialized services and is left to their best guesses as to which,” she said. “Now, Hogwarts has very few active heat-rooms, most of which are located on the second floor. Do you have a preference?”

“No, anything will do,” he answered quickly. She gave him a knowing look and with a flick of her wand, conjured up a very ancient-looking key.

“For Room C, I trust you can find your way,” she added, holding out the key with a wink.

“You knew,” he whispered, accepting the key with a light touch. “All this time?”

“Trouble-makers are often drawn to Gryffindor, and I make sure to key an eye on them,” was all she admitted to. “We tend to get into the best of adventures and the worst sorts of mischief. Best to manage it as much as one can,”

“You’ll have to tell me about it someday,” he said almost absentmindedly.

She inclined her head. “Perhaps one day, Mr. Potter,”


End file.
